


The Babysitter And The Doctor

by JohnlockedDancer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Babysitters, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, Babysitter Sherlock, Babysitting, Chapter Story, Child in love, Child/Adult, Consensual, Consensual underage, Cute, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Doctor John, Don't Like Don't Read, Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eye Sex, Family Drama, Gay, I Ship It, I can’t stress this enough, I gave myself feels, John is adorable, Kid!John, M/M, Medical Kink, Meet-Cute, OTP Feels, Out of Character, Playing Doctor, Poor John, Romantic Fluff, Sherlock Has A Crush, Size Difference, Taboo, This is a free site, Underage - Freeform, Underage Kissing, Underage content, You Have Been Warned, all the feels, comment please, consensual taboo, i need feedback, john has a crush, little!john, mabye???, old/young, older!Sherlock, otp, please, please mind the tags, read and review, thank you, this is fiction, unestablished, written in English, younger!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2020-09-24 01:43:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20350297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnlockedDancer/pseuds/JohnlockedDancer
Summary: "Daddy! He's here!" John shouted, bouncing up and down with excitement, clutching Sherlock's hand."





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes checked his phone. Looking up again, he confirmed that the number on the house was right. 221 b. And it was on Baker Street. Good. So, he paid the cab driver and got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. 

The house looked nice actually. The soft looking green bushes surrounded a house (or cottage, really) that had been coated a bright pink. A few steps led up to the simple wooden door. On either side of said door had been planted a variety of flowers. Most of them went in blue, purple and white, except for the roses climbing the walls. They were yellow. Sherlock usually didn’t take notice of things like that. Huh. Interesting. Perhaps he would even be able to tolerate the people inside too?

Before he even had a chance ring the bell, the door swung wide open. Sherlock couldn’t help but stare. In the doorway stood a boy (possibly the very boy he would babysit) with sandy blonde hair. He was quite short, but aren’t all kids his age?  
The most striking thing about this boy though was his eyes. Sherlock couldn’t detect the exact color of them. He’d have to collect more data.

“Hello, I'm John Watson. Are you my new babysitter?" Sherlock squatted, reached out, and took that small, outstretched hand in his own. "Hello John, my name is Sherlock Holmes and yes, I'm your new babysitter." John stared back at him with huge, round, sparkling eyes. Suddenly, the little boy gripped Sherlock's hand harder and tugged. Sherlock nearly fell over in surprise, but steadied himself at the last moment. He followed John into the kitchen. "Daddy! He's here!" John shouted, bouncing up and down with excitement, still clutching Sherlock's hand. Sherlock tried to let go once he spotted the man who supposedly was John's father, Mr Watson, whom he had spoken to by phone when he first got the job of babysitting at their place. Little John, however, managed to latch onto him once more. "Mr Watson, I presume?" Sherlock asked, nodding at the man. He tried his best to look apologetic. "Yes, and you must be Mr Holmes?" To Sherlock's relief, Mr Watson came forward, shaking Sherlock's other hand (that wasn't occupied with John). "Well, welcome Mr Holmes-" "Oh, please, Mr Watson, call me Sherlock." Sherlock flashed a grin at Mr Watson who smiled back. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" Mr Watson gaped openly. "How on earth...?" Sherlock waved a hand dismissively, subtly catching John's gaze, winking at him. John's shocked face morphed into one of admiration, making Sherlock's heart skip a beat. "Why...Afghanistan!" Mr Watson struggled to gain his bearings from the shock that a complete stranger whom he'd only just met, knew of his military history. Sherlock waited in anticipation. Any minute now, he would be thrown out. That's what people did whenever he'd- "That was ... amazing." Huh. That's new. Well, it seemed like there really is a first for everything. Sherlock couldn't help but smile a little. The praise seemed genuine. "Do you think so?"  
Mr Watson smiled warmly at him. "Well, of course it was. It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary." Sherlock stole a glance at John who's face was still full of admiration, a big smile grasing his features.  
"That's not what people normally say." "What do people normally say?" "Piss off." Just as Sherlock had said that, they heard giggling. Sherlock looked down at John. "John, it isn't polite to laugh at someone. Mr Watson's voice was stern. John stopped immediately and his face fell. "But I -" Sherlock interrupted. For some reason, he hated seeing the little boy sad. "It's ok, Mr Watson, I know he didn't mean to be rude." And he found it to be true. Somehow, the way John looked at him, he knew that everything was ok. Sherlock had never experienced this kind of trust before. He was acutely aware, that in all this time, John hadn't let go of his hand. Not once.  
Mr Watson relaxed. "Well then, I'd better be going. You two have fun!" And Mr Watson was out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for leaving kudos and/or comments. Enjoy the next chapter :)

Sherlock studied the little boy for a while. "How old are you, John?" John let go of his hand and held up nine fingers. "My birthday was yesterday!" Sherlock smiled. "You're a big boy then? Almost ten!" John nodded, beaming. "Happy late birthday, John". John threw his arms around Sherlock's middle. "Thank you Sherlock!" The words came out a bit muffled. Sherlock hadn't expected a hug (not that he complained, rather the opposite in fact), but he put his arms on John's back nontheless (the boy was, after all too short for him to be able to wrap his own arms around the child).  
"What would you like to do?" Sherlock asked when they finally let go of each other. John looked up at him. "I want to be a doctor when I grow up! Can I please examine you? I think you might have a dangerous illness actually!" The little boy concluded. Sherlock nodded, trying to hide the grin that was threatening to expose itself on his face. "I think you might be right, Dr Watson." He stated as gravely as he could (the kid was simply too adorable for his own good). "Would you like to examine my reflexes as well?" Sherlock was rewarded with another beaming smile. The little boy gripped Sherlock's hand once again (this seemed to become a nice habit) and led the way to his room.  
John opened the door and told Sherlock to wait outside. Sherlock was impressed. The kid really seemed to know what he was doing.  
A few minutes ticked by. Finally, the door opened, revealing the little boy clad in a doctor's uniform. He even wore a small stethoscope around his neck. He cleared his little throat "erhm, next please. You are Sherlock Holmes, right? Please, step inside." Sherlock stood up from where he'd been sitting on a stool he'd found just outside the door to John's room. He wondered how many times John had practiced on his parents. 

Sherlock closed the door behind him. "Can you sit on the bed for me, please?" John asked sweetly. Sherlock nodded, stepped over to the boy's bed and sat down. "Now, what seems to be the problem?" John looked Sherlock up and down. Sherlock swallowed involuntarily. How far should he take this little game? "Um, I have chest pain and my heartbeat speeds up when I look at you..." He trailed off, looking at the little boy from under his lashes. John sucked in a breath. A slight blush was spreading across the little boy's cheeks. "P- please, take off your shirt for me, I'm going to listen to your lungs and heart." Sherlock was completely sure now. The boy blushed and stuttered. And his pupils were dilated. Sherlock couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. Time to move on to the next experiment.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock took his time as he stripped off his shirt for John. He caught the little doctor staring more than once even though Sherlock could tell that he tried his best not to.  
Sherlock knew that he was in dangerous territory. From his own deductions, his feelings seemed to be mutual so there really shouldn't be any problem. He knew he couldn't let John's parents know about their little "game" though. Why the quote marks? This whole thing was more than a simple game. Sherlock could feel it in the air between them both.  
Oh, how Sherlock longed to taste those plump lips! Absentmindedly, his fingertips traced his own, thin ones.  
John had already tested Sherlock's reflexes (they seemed to work well enough) and examined every inch of his body (even his curls). Now, as the little boy placed his stethoscope on Sherlock's naked chest, Sherlock tried focusing on his own breathing. It was easier said than done however, as John's little hand lingered longer than strictly necessary. By the time John had moved the stethoscope to Sherlock's back, Sherlock was panting as if he'd been running a marathon. John leaned in close enough that Sherlock could feel the boy's hot breath on his face. "Sherlock?" Sherlock felt himself melting inside as those (nope, still couldn't decide what color they were) eyes bore deep into his own. ”Yes John?” Sherlock's baritone voice came out no more than a whisper. "I know a cure for your illness." Sherlock couldn't help but hold his breath. "Really? Tell me, what is it?" John sounded a little breathless himself as he said "close your eyes." Sherlock did so. A few seconds ticked by. And then...Sherlock wondered if he really had that great of an imagination, but he could swear that, for a brief moment, he felt something soft touch his lips. Had John just kissed him? Sherlock could feel himself smiling. "Do you think it worked?" He asked, still with his eyes closed. "No." The little boy replied at once. "We need to try again." Sherlock clearly felt it now: a pair of small lips pressing against his own, a little longer this time.


End file.
